


Sulun

by Jeneva



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Durin Family, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), Dúnedain - Freeform, Everybody Lives, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Genderfluid Character, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Nudity, Other, Romance, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Stubborn Dwarves, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeneva/pseuds/Jeneva
Summary: Wherein the Company of Thorin Oakenshield is set upon by a mysterious Ranger of the North whose goal may not be so unlike that of the dwarves who have lost their home.Along the roads and trails of the Wilds, the Rangers roam. Mysterious and deadly, most avoid them if possible. However, when a company of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard pass through the plains and hills of the Great East Road, even a Ranger may find wind up caught up in events that lie far beyond the Misty Mountains.And all for the whim of a wizard.





	Sulun

Bilbo decided that he did not like the road East of Bree. If it could be even called a road, that is, for it was really little more than a meandering trail of dry dirt that clung too much to the air when kicked up by the ponies. It settled in Bilbo hair, on his jacket, and up his nose. It made him cough and sneeze far too often to be polite and it was uncomfortable. Just as he had said all those months ago when the wizard had just happened up to his gate; adventures were uncomfortable things.

            Being late for dinner was an almost equally disappointing feature of this quest. Bofur insisted that they were never late for dinner: the company always stopped at the same time of day to make camp. It was a while before it occurred to Bilbo that the Dwarves, despite their voracious appetite, had not heard or, not practiced the seven standard mealtimes. Bilbo thought at length of mentioning it in the hopes of breaking at _least_ for luncheon. He was sorely missing afternoon tea and cakes.

“Gandalf.” Bilbo ventured as his pony, Myrtle, lumbered up next to the wizard. “About how long should it take us to the reach the mountain?”

The wizard sputtered a little bit as he puffed on his pipe. He had always smelled of smoke. Sometimes tobacco or pipe-weed, and sometimes of powder and fire. Under the heavy boughs of the trees, Bilbo could only whiff Old Toby.

“Well, if we make good time crossing the mountains, the woods, and water, I would say about four months.” Bilbo nodded. That sounded reasonable.

“However,” There was the rub! Dash the wizard and his way of ruining a hopeful mood. “If the weather is bad and the roads are as dangerous as has been reported to me—and if the road through the Elven Wood isn’t clear—it may be six months or more. Either way, we are making good time.” Gandalf shrugged and shook his shoulders, “I would imagine it will take us anywhere between four and six months.”

Bilbo decided against asking Gandalf any further questions, lest he risk breaking his contract and turning himself straight around to march back to Bag-End.

By late afternoon they had begun to pass through a tall copse of trees from which long Grandfather’s Beard lichen hung. Bilbo had to even duck to avoid some as they meandered through.

“Why have we moved off the road?” He turned to Kili or was it Fili? He couldn’t remember.

“Well,” Either Kili or Fili leaned over a little. “The road has been rough as of late. A few merchants who we met on our way to the Shire mentioned thieves on the road. So, we leave it early to make camp now.”

The other brother camp up on Bilbo’s right. “Yes, couldn’t imagine running into a group of cutthroats on the roads near the Blue Mountains, but the closer you get to Dunland, the worse the folk.”

“Aye,” The first brother acknowledged, stroking his braided moustache. Fili! That was his name! “Cut your gullet in the middle of the night, they will.” He drew his thumb and forefinger across his throat in a large pinching motion. “Lots of blood. Nasty surprise.”

Kili grinned even as he nodded. “Oh yes, we keep double watch from now on.”

Fili leaned in, crowding Bilbo. “You don’t happen to have a weapon on you? Just in case.”

Bilbo was properly flustered. “Well no, I don’t make a habit of carrying much but a pipe on me.”

Fili clucked his tongue. “Ooh, no good, that. You’ll be dead before we reach the Misty Mountains.”

~

“We will camp here.” Thorin called back to the company before dismounting his pony. The rest of the dwarves followed suit and began to set up camp in the small space between a group of thick trees. Their nightly routine was peppered with conversation and a quick brawl between Fili and Kili with no clear winner. Eventually, Dwalin pulled the pair apart by the scruff of the neck. Bilbo took the opportunity to sit on something that _wasn’t_ a pony and take stock of his bag.

“Oh dear, oh that's no good.” He was out of clean shirts. Nori passed and Bilbo excused himself to ask, “Where does one wash their clothes while traveling? Is there a bin?”

Nori pursed his lips and shrugged. “If ye find yerself a stream you might, but you’d best not travel with damp clothes.” The dwarf took a look at Bilbo’s clothes. “Eye, ye went all at once. Best practice it just to wear them ‘til ye can’t anymore and then change shirts.” And then he walked off to join his brothers in setting out the bedrolls.

Well, no self-respecting Hobbit would be caught in the same shirt for _weeks_. With a huff, Bilbo set his pack down by his claimed log and set out into the spacious forest to find a stream to scrub his clothes clean of horse hair and dust.

He had been lucky to find such a nice little brook in just a few minutes of listening and sniffing. The Hobbit immediately set about washing, even taking the time to thoroughly scrub between his toes and clean the hair on the tops of his feet. In the depths of the woods, Bilbo was reminded of his youth. Once when he was of the mind of elves living in the woods near Hobbiton and would stay out for hours waiting for them to pass. Now, in the midst of an adventure, the solitude was lovely. The smell of the soap and bracing water was a pleasant reprieve from the road. Bilbo unconsciously wiggled his nose to stifle a sneeze as he scrubbed out some more of Myrtle’s hair when he felt something cold, sharp, and metal come to rest on his shoulder. He froze.

“Well now,” A smooth, low voice murmured from just behind him. “You’re far from home.”

~

Bilbo couldn’t bear to look anywhere but at the ground as the cloaked stranger picked through the camp. It had been both terrifying and embarrassing to be marched back to camp by the secretive stranger and held hostage in front of the dwarves. The dwarves had made and impressive rally to Bilbo’s defense, but soon had to disarm as the wave of the rogue’s short blade brushed along Bilbo’s vest. Now, the Hobbit trailed after the Man as the vagabond toed over packs and eyed strewn tools and weapons that had not been tossed on the pile in the center of camp. The dwarves all stood in a line across from the fire, divested of weapons but little else, and glowered. Gandalf was standing apart rather apathetically, seemingly oblivious to the wild looks and panicked glances sent to him by the dwarves and Bilbo. Thorin’s blue eyes trailed the Man in silence. Fili shifted on his feet but stopped when the stranger’s eyes snapped to him.

“Now, good sir,” Balin started as Bilbo was hefted by the scruff of his neck over a large back and set down on the other side. “What might you be looking for among simple traveling folk?”

The thief or cutthroat—whatever he was—paused and eyed Balin critically from the space between his cowl and scarf. The Man tossed off his hood and revealed a shock of bright copper hair and severe eyes. Bilbo had never seen hair tied into a knot high on the back of the head like that. The lower half of his head had been shorn close with a geometric design cut in close to the skin, too regular to be a scar. Bilbo only caught a few glimpses before averting his gaze.

“This appears to be more than just a simple traveling company.” The rogue ventured as he led Bilbo back towards the center of the group. His hand was firm on the hobbit’s shoulder, as Bilbo was the only thing keeping the Man from being swarmed by 13 highly agitated dwarves. Thorin and Dwalin were looking particularly venomous and Kili appeared like he might rush the Man barehanded. Bilbo sent a silent prayer to what forces may be that it ended with him in one piece.

Balin, ever diplomatic, shook his head and stepped forward a little. “If you are referring to the weapons, these _are_ dangerous roads…” He looked at the short blade in the rogue’s hand and swallowed. “We are merely making our way to our kin in the Iron Hills. If there is something you need, you need only ask. We are happy to share”

The rogue’s eyes narrowed slightly and Bilbo felt the hand on his shoulder lighten slightly, then give him a firm pat. The rogue sheathed his sword and pulled down the scarf that had been covering his nose and mouth.

“My apologies, master dwarf.” He was as young as he was tall. Bilbo kept staring even as he was released. This was completely unexpected. It was Bofur that dashed forward pulled him away and behind the dwarves who now took a much more offensive stance. The Man seemed unconcerned as he cracked the joints of his fingers and turned to Balin. “There is word of dangerous folk upon the roads. I have no intention of taking anything of yours.”

Immediately, some of the dwarves sighed and relaxed. Thorin, however, stalked forward towards the Man, hostile and irate.

“And who are you to hold my company hostage while you pry through our belongings?” Dwalin stood just behind Thorin, looking ready to take on the Man with his monstrous hands. Bilbo wasn’t sure who would win. Even Thorin only came to the stranger’s shoulder. Though, Bilbo had seen Dwalin snap a log as thick as a pony’s leg with those hands. The Man’s eyebrows lifted slightly and then sunk as he frowned at Thorin. Gandalf picked this moment to interrupt, late as usual.

“This, my friend, is a Ranger of the North. A protector of the borders of the Shire and guardians of the roads.”

Bilbo stared. _This_ was a ranger? He had heard of them but had only seen a ranger a handful of times as they passed through Hobbiton. Or perhaps they weren’t even rangers. Really, anyone taller than 5 feet and wearing a dark cloak could be labeled a ranger and put on the Watch. They were regarded with a suspicious respect by the Hobbits. They were mysterious wanderers of the Wilds. Uncivilized and armed. So bloodthirsty, they would hunt and eat orcs or wargs. As his cousin had put it, ‘best to avoid but good to have nearby’. Not that an orc had come into the Shire in over a century...

“Gandalf the Grey.” The man moved towards the wizard, stepping around and completely _ignoring_ Thorin as if the dwarf were just a bush in his path. Thorin managed to look mildly affronted as he was put to the Man’s back. The level of insult was completely lost on Bilbo. Thorin’s scowl depended. The wizard nodded his head and smiled, though it did little to lessen the unyielding expression on the man’s face.

“A pleasure,” Gandalf offered his hand and the Man shook it once before turning to the company, looking them over again. His eyes rested lastly on Bilbo. Bofur moved to block the hobbit from the Ranger’s eyes.

“Interesting company to keep.” The Ranger muttered. Thorin looked ready to set into the Man again when Balin intervened,

“A company of good friends and kin. And I would like to be the first to thank you,” Thorin and Kili’s heads snapped to Balin almost instantaneously, flinging hair and braids about as they did. Balin continued. “For your care of these lands. We have felt quite safe as we have traveled the roads.” Someone behind Bilbo scoffed and muttered ‘yea, safe enough to be held hostage by some prowler’. Balin approached and offered his hand to the tall stranger.

“Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.”

Bilbo watched as the stranger’s severe expression melted away and a small smile curled around the corner of his mouth. Almost instantly, the air of danger that hung around the man vanished. A dimple appeared on his cheek. Bilbo realized that he would have a beautiful smile. The man took Balin firmly by the forearm.

“Esnin.”

~

            Dinner was a tense affair. The dwarves had all gathered on one side of the fire and the Ranger sat alone on the other. Thorin and Dwalin stared over the pot at the Ranger, forgetting their food as they whispered to each other quietly. Bilbo and Gandalf took the no man’s land in-between. Bilbo felt like he was waiting for food or worse to go flying. Esnin, as he called himself, pointedly ignored the company’s stares. He spent his time scraping dried mud of the bottoms of his boots with a twig. It was almost as if the 15 of them were simply not there.

            “You said,” Gandalf started after drawing a long breath on his pipe. “That there was word of strange folk on the roads.”

The Ranger cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes.” He hummed as he flung a large clot of earth across the fire to hit Kili in the face. Maybe it was an accident, maybe not.

Gandalf waited and then prodded when the ranger wasn’t forthcoming. “And what rumor have you heard?”

Dwalin and Thorin continued to murmur among themselves as they observed their uninvited guest. Fili got up, refilled his bowl and ducked next to his uncle to listen in. The Ranger finished with his boot and crossed a leg over his knee to rest his arms. Bilbo hadn’t met many Men and he wasn’t sure what to make of this one. Sitting in the firelight, he didn’t look like a Ranger. His clothing was patch-worked and dirty. A conglomeration of various fabrics, leathers, and pouches that were too foreign to place and didn’t quite go together. Scavenged. He very well could have been a vagabond picking over the scraps of others. But his scarf, Bilbo realized, was once a lovely pale blue with red embroidery. Perhaps a gift from someone important: for the quality of the work was excellent. It seemed too cheery for the mysterious Rangers. They were supposed to be dark, moving like shadows. This man looked like someone you’d find in a bazaar selling strange imports.

And he was so strange! Not a hint of stubble upon his cheek—something the dwarves repeatedly pointed out from where they had amassed. Over his time with them, Bilbo came to realized that beards were an extremely important feature among dwarf culture. The lack of one was an embarrassment (especially for Kili, it seemed) but was it so for Men? This Esnin fellow was an enigma. When he had first been hauled by the collar into camp, Bilbo had imagined his captor to be a rough and weathered fellow with plenty of scars and missing teeth. The ranger, while not terribly young, was smooth faced and had a rather nice set of teeth. Not to mention a pair of fine-looking grey eyes. Perhaps he was an elf!

“Burm bund sakhu rukhs shirumund caragu.” Someone behind Bilbo muttered.

Intent on his previous curiosity, Bilbo tried to be subtle as he shifted to look at the man’s ear. It could be slightly pointed if it the he would just turn a little more…

“Rumor mostly.” The Ranger supplied as he cracked his fingers by squeezing his hands together. When one didn’t crack the way he wanted, he tugged on the finger joint until a loud _pop_ sounded. Ori flinched at the sound. “Several caravans have been ransacked on the Road, the travelers butchered.” He wriggled his fingers in the air in the way that an insect’s legs move. “Guts everywhere. As I hear tell, only those under Elvish escort have made it to the Misty Mountains in one piece.”

Gandalf shot Thorin a pointed look, but the dwarf shook his head once before turning to the Ranger.

“And you,” Thorin addressed the man rather coolly but with far less anger than before, “Intend to do what about it, exactly?” Prickly and gruff, as usual. It was a wonder that Thorin could inspire any sort of loyalty if this was how he greeted people. Bilbo sighed as the Ranger’s expression grew stiff. The dwarven king was certainly no diplomat.

“I intend to discover the culprit, be it man, beast, orc…” The ranger eyed Dwalin over once. “…or dwarf.”

At that, the company immediately broke out into a bout of shouting, accusations, declarations of insult, and more. All silence of the nighttime was shattered. Bilbo watched as, despite the raucousness around them, as Thorin and the Ranger stared each other down, waiting for the other to move. Dwalin’s fingers twitched slightly. The Ranger’s foot edged to the side and arched onto his toe. Like a coil ready to spring Eventually, Gandalf intervened to calm to the company down. Kili stormed away and Fili had to go after his brother before the impulsive young dwarf got lost.

“Now, surely you could not suspect this company of honorable dwarves of such violence?” Gandalf asked, sounded deceptively offended. The Ranger moved his gaze from Thorin to the wizard and shrugged his shoulders. All tension left him as if blown away on a breeze.

“You are armed and devoid of goods for sale. No merchant carts or caravans. I had to make sure. Though,” Bilbo suddenly found himself pinned by those keen eyes. “It was a surprise to find a hobbit amongst you.”

“So, you were spying.” Thorin’s rumbling accusation was practically spat across the fire. The Ranger burst out laughing, sharp and loud in the silence of the forest.

“One does not need to spy! You blunder through the woods like a rampaging troll. Anyone could have noticed you. You just didn’t happen to notice me.”

They were stinging words, but said with such sure delight that Bilbo almost felt guilty at the pleasure he took in Thorin being provoked so thoroughly. He shouldn’t have found it so amusing, but the dwarf had quite a stubborn streak. The Ranger seemed pleased with himself. He was still smiling as he switched his legs and cracked his ankle.

“I would recommend your company head for Rivendell,” The Ranger said as he rose from his seat on the old log. “The roads there are well patrolled by Lord Elrond’s forces. If you are looking to pass through the mountains, go there and take the mountain pass or head south for the Gap.”

Gandalf seemed pleased with the advice and walked the ranger to the edge of camp. Once the pair was perceived to be out of range, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin and Oin assembled and began to discuss extra watches at night.

“I really don’t think he meant any harm.” Bilbo offered as he wandered over to the dwarves, watching the Ranger as he checked the ponies with Gandalf. He was still trying to get a view of his ear.

“You are soft to such wilds,” Thorin grumbled from where he stood, a map held in his hands. “Do not be foolish and think that _he_ isn’t someone to be wary of.”

“After all,” Kili cut in, over-loud as usual, “He held you hostage!” It was nearly sweet

Bilbo huffed. “But he did no harm and gave us good warning. The Rangers are strange, mysterious even, but they are excellent guardians of the Shire.”

Thorin’s clear blue eyes found Bilbo. “We are not in the Shire, Master Baggins,” The dwarf stood and walked over to join Bilbo in watching the wizard and Ranger. “And we will not take the suggestion of a _friend_ of the Elves.”

Stubborn. Bilbo rather hoped Thorin would hit a branch on the ride tomorrow and either gain some sense or have some of that stubbornness knocked out.

~

Trolls. Trolls and Wargs and Orcs. Not only was Bilbo covered in sticky troll snot, mud, branches and some particularly nasty scrapes, but Gandalf had just led them down a hole. And not one of those nice holes either. It was an oozy hole made worse when the body of that dead orc festering at the bottom while Thorin debated their course of action. They could go up and face the elves and any straggling orcs or go down the cavern and into the unknown. Gandalf was impatient as he waited for the dwarf to make his decision. Thorin was torn, seemingly realizing that he was trapped.

“I cannot see where the path leads, do we follow it or no?” Dwalin called. Thorin threw a look to Gandalf.

Bilbo practically dashed down the narrow corridor when the command was given. Weeks of riding, then walk, then running and never had something so dark seemed to welcome.

The result of following the path was glorious. When they came upon what could only have been Rivendell, Bilbo had to stop to stare. The arching halls were tucked snuggly between the walls of the valley and large, thick trees cushioned the sounds of the many waterfalls surrounding them. Even the dwarves stopped to gaze in awe at the elvish kingdom.

“You deliberately led us here.” Bilbo heard Thorin accuse Gandalf. The wizard, to his credit, didn’t attempt to deny it. He merely moved on down the winding path towards the bottom of the valley, staff in hand, whistling a jaunty tune. Despite any misgivings from Thorin, it seemed the rest of the company were inclined to hurry down as well. Bilbo wasn’t going to delay in seeing such a legendary place.

And it was truly beautiful. The sun seemed to condense in the air as the company crossed an elegant bridge of grey stone to the courtyard of one of those magnificent halls. The walls arched up to mimic the surrounding rock face and trees. This place was far grander than Bilbo had ever dreamed of since he had heard tell of this place from his mother. Oh, if only she could have seen this place…

“Ah! Lindir!” The company turned as an Elf approached and greeted Gandalf. The dwarves, ever suspicious, clustered together as Gandalf translated the welcome of the elves. Thorin was irascible as usual.

“And how did the elves know to expect us?” He stared straight at Gandalf. There was no hiding it now. The wizard denied having provided any forewarning and Lindir was quick to supply an answer, although he looked uncomfortable doing so when the entire company turned heavy stares upon him. It was amusing to see such a tall, stately figure look so nervous. Thorin even chuckled a little.

“Your presence was alerted to us by one of the Rangers. We were told you may need our protection-“

“We need no protection from the elves.” Dwalin spat. It was just then, that a horn sounded from the bridge behind and the dwarves were swarmed by a thunder of horses and elvish soldiers led by the Lord Elrond himself. It was an alarming entrance to say the least. Swords and hammers were drawn in haste as the company rallied.

Not needing protection indeed, Bilbo scoffed. Lord Elrond meant them no harm, although it seemed that the elf took great pleasure in goading the dwarves with a bit of elvish. However, once the invitation was given, for no Baggins would _dare_ impose on another’s home without being properly invited, Bilbo marched straight up those stairs and headed for a bath and a hot meal. Dwarves and their stubbornness be damned.

~

Bilbo was _thoroughly_ enjoying the hospitality of the elves. Fresh clothes, and a hot bath had made him feel like a new hobbit. What was more, he had enough time to wander the beautiful gardens before dinner. It was truly magical. The estates were nothing like those in the shire. Not even the impressive vegetable and flower gardens of Bag-End of Brandybuck Hall. Bilbo was beginning to consider asking Lord Elrond for some seeds to bring home with him. Would they fare so well in the rolling hills of the Shire?

Bilbo had just taken a seat on one of the more secluded garden benches when he noticed someone walking under the trees down the path. It was probably an elf and Bilbo nearly ignored the person until his eye caught a flash of copper as the figure passed through a patch of afternoon sunlight. There was something vaguely familiar about the set of their shoulders…

Esnin! The Ranger from nigh on a fortnight past! Bilbo glanced around for any other folk before carefully following the ranger down the path. After a few moments, the hobbit reasoned that he had lost the man and should head back. But then, just around the edge of a weeping tree, Bilbo spotted him standing with another. The Hobbit crouched quickly and grabbed at his ears as his grandmother’s voice berated him for eavesdropping. _No Baggins would ever be caught eavesdropping!_

Grandmother had always been right. No Baggins would ever be _caught_ and she was sure to teach him all the humble little tricks to get an ear up on your neighbor. Bilbo took a deep breath and put his ear to the ground, so to speak, and listened like his grandmother had taught him.

“…you haven’t been to Rivendell much as of late.” It was the voice of the other person, perhaps a woman’s, for its cadence and tone. Bilbo dared to peak at their feet, knowing well that eyes upon them would be noticed by someone who’s profession was watching others. But oh, what a sight! For it was a woman who stood with Esnin. And what a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a fair, round face. She looked practically Hobbitish. Esnin stood a way away, fiddling with something in his hands as he gazed off to the side. While he looked much cleaner than their first, he was still dressed in travel clothes and that same blue scarf. The designs cut into short hair of the back of his head looked fresh and crisp. In the clear light of the late afternoon, Bilbo could make out the broadness of his shoulders and the muscle underneath. Yet his face was soft with few hard angles or lines. Unbundled, he looked even taller than before. Bilbo glanced away as Esnin turned to his companion.

“The roads have been plagued with criminals and orcs.” His voice had lost the quality Bilbo had first noticed in the camp. No bravado or taunting lilt. The woman approached him but stopped short.

“Rhosyn…”

The Ranger turned, his face looking pained and angry and on the verge of tears. Deep hollows cut into the flesh under his cold eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch

“What, Gilraen? Do you want me to stay here and watch what you have made of yourself? You are miserable!” It was as quiet of an outburst as possible, spoken with resentment and exhaustion. the Ranger turned his face up to the leaves above. Gilraen looked away.

“I have to be here for him.” She defended harshly after a moment’s silence. The Ranger looked outraged when his head snapped to face her.

“Of course. Lock yourself away, away from your family, your people, the wilds you once loved.” He hissed as he stalked past her. Gilraen followed and grabbed his shoulder.

“He is the heir!”

“But you do not have to tie yourself to that fate!” Bilbo couldn’t help but stare as the Ranger spun and stepped closer, taking Gilraen gently by her hands. “You did what your mother wanted. You bore that Heir and Elrond has taken him in. Your husband is dead. Leave this place and that memory. It is not yours to bear.” His words went from spiteful to earnest, like a plea.

“He is my son!” Gilraen barked as she tore her hands away. Her tightly bound hair turned into a weapon that swiped nearby flowers when she turned. “I know you do not understand or share in this, but I love him. I am his mother. I cannot abandon him.”

Esnin grew very quiet and still. “I know.” He rubbed at the back of his head, fingers finding and tracing the marks cut flush against his skin. He seemed to struggle to find the words he wished. “I just… this isn’t you, Gilraen. This place,” He gestured to the hanging boughs of flowers and leaves. “It isn’t your place.”

Bilbo felt his foot going numb from being hunched over for so long, but he couldn’t risk moving to ease the pain. Besides, the Took in him was too intrigued. Drama was such an entertaining pastime, especially when it didn’t involve oneself. So, the hobbit grit his teeth and settled in for a while longer.

“Rhosyn…” That must have been Esnin’s name. Gilraen went to the ranger and cupped his face between her hands. Esnin—rather Rhosyn’s—eyes looked tired and old. She swiped her thumb tenderly against his cheekbone. “Our lives didn’t turn out the way we had dreamt, did they?”

At that, Rhosyn huffed a sour laugh, but he didn’t move away as Gilraen untied his mess of hair and ran her fingers through it. She spent a good while doing so and Bilbo suddenly felt dirty for watching such tender affection.

“No,” Rhosyn agreed at last. “We took very different paths.”

“But ours still cross, from time to time.”

“And for that, I am grateful.”

~

Dinner with dwarves was much like it had been in Bag End and it made Bilbo want to bury his face in a pillow and scream. It seemed dwarven manners didn’t improve no matter how humble or beautiful the setting was. Perhaps they were made worse by their general unfriendliness with the elves. Ironically, Thorin was the one to maintain his composure at the table with Gandalf and Elrond. Bilbo dearly wished to be able to hear more over Ori’s complaining and Nori’s tinkering on Elven silverware he likely intended to steal.

When it arrived, Bilbo set into dinner with a passion. Between mouthfuls of some of the best food he had in weeks, he noticed Kili making eyes at an elf across the way. Dwalin also noted the looks and the young dwarf scrambled to cover his indiscretion.

“Elf maids… pretty but all high cheek bones and fair skin.” Bilbo doubted anyone was fooled. Kili then looked behind him and winked. “And far too thin. But that one’s not bad.”

Dwalin set his great thick arms on the table. “That is not elf maid.” The table burst out laughing. Kili practically dropped his head into his plate in embarrassment. It was all good fun in the end, though Kili didn’t lift his head for quite some time.

It was then that Bilbo heard the conversation between Thorin, Gandalf, and Lord Elrond. Bilbo ran a finger over his sword, which he couldn’t help but bring to dinner. Perhaps he was afraid that the elves would take it away. It was more theirs than his, after all.

“I wouldn’t bother, lad.” Balin said when the topic of elvish swords was brought up. “Swords are named for their great deeds in battle.”

“What, are you saying my sword hasn’t seen battle?” Bilbo was of a mind to note that none of the elven blades looked anything less than new. Just because he had only swung it at a mostly dead warg didn’t mean it was untested!

Balin’s beard bobbed as he smacked his lips. “I’m not sure it really is a sword, more of a letter opener, really.”

Hopes and pride thoroughly dashed, Bilbo was actually relieved when Bofur, in usual cheer, got up on the table and launched the company into a tavern tune that ended flinging food and scurrying elves. It was such a drastic changed from the severity and grace of the elves. But Bilbo did notice that even Thorin, who had gotten up from the table, stopped and tapped his foot to the music. He even smiled even though he did not sing.

It had never occurred to Bilbo before then, but there, as he sat and watched, he realized that Thorin Oakenshield was not just the leader of the company. These were his people, after all. His friends and family. And as Bilbo watched and the dancing continued, he came to grasp that Thorin may have been more complicated than he once thought. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, he might have actually been agreeable.

When the raucousness died down and the dwarves retired, Bilbo ventured to approach Thorin and Balin as they talked on the steps of the hall. All jovial mood was gone. Thorin was stern and stony as ever, if not a little less cross.

“Well? What’s the plan?” Bilbo fiddled with his coat as the pair turned to him. Balin looked exhausted and even Thorin couldn’t bother to keep up appearances as he pulled at his beard and pinched his nose.

“We stay.” Thorin’s deep voice was devoid of any emotion. “There are runes on the map that can only be read under a specific moon.” He stifled a yawn and walked over to the bannister to look out upon Rivendell. Balin nodded and began to head down the stairs.

“Alright,” Bilbo shifted on his feet and followed Thorin’s gaze. “How long until we can read them?”

“A week.”

~

One would think a week of waiting around elvish halls would make most dwarves less than jovial. If anything, it was encouragement for some fun. Bofur couldn’t help but smirk as he tossed an apple in the air. Oh yes, they would thoroughly enjoy the hospitality of the elves. It was rather pleasant place, once your got past the flimsy arches and less than crisp stonework. A bit to airy, as if a good storm would blow the place over, but pleasant enough. They could really do to have a proper mason, though.

As he rounded a corner, only years of experience kept Bofur from getting smacked in the face with a Kili’s shirt. He did lose his hat, however.

“Oi, you lot can’t be getting into a brawl already! It isn’t even past lunch and you’ve broken two tables!” He called as he retrieved his hat and the shirt.

Kili had recovered enough from his embarrassment at dinner the night before and was grinning like all young fools should. He was still youthful. Quite young by dwarrows but not too young to be denied a place on the quest. But he boy had never traveled far beyond the Blue Mountains where he had been born. Over the last week his spirits had fallen. It did Bofur well to see a bit more cheer in the young prince.

“Mister Bofur!” Kili strode forward and recovered his shirt before clapping Bofur on the shoulder. His smile was bright and carefree. “Fili and I were talking, and we think that the company could clean up a bit more. You know, so these fair-folk don’t feel the need to cover their noses.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dwalin grumbled from where he sat, polishing his bronze knuckles. “I smell fine.”

Kili’s grin fell and he sighed dramatically. “But Mister Dwalin,” Dwalin threw a glare. “These elf noses are far too sensitive after being surrounded by flowers and paper all day. They aren’t used to the scent of the open road!”

From the corner of the quarters, Fili rolled his eyes at his brother’s theatrics in a way that resembled Thorin almost exactly. Bofur wondered if it was a family trait to look so expertly exasperated. Kili, however, seemed immune to mood entirely. He was much like his father. The young dwarf kicked off a boot and hoped around on one foot, trying to rid himself of the other.

“And what, pray tell, are you suggesting?” Oin asked from where he and Glion sat. Kili was particularly delighted by the question. His impish grin returned full force and he bounced an eyebrow.

“I ‘appened to see a rather large fountain around the back. With a slide,” He moved his hand in the air as if to mimic the curve of a slide. “And it is just being ignored! No doubt the elves keep their clothes practically sewn to their skin and wouldn’t dare to make good use of the thing.”

“And you are suggesting that we use a fountain to bathe in?” Dori asked scandalously. Kili faltered then and glanced around at the company. Only the sounds of the birds could be heard for a long moment. Dwalin slowly rose to his feet.

“Let’s get to it, lads!” Dwalin roared.

~

“Admiring the view, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo nearly flew out of his skin when he heard the familiar voice of the ranger. He put a hand to his chest and steadied himself on the rail as he twisted. The ranger was smirking at the hobbit in a way that caused clean shaven cheek to dimple.

“Ah! Mi-mister R-Esnin! How, uh… unexpected.” Bilbo struggled to compose himself as the tall Man stepped around the arch to join him on the balcony. Bilbo eyed his companion carefully as he approached. The Ranger’s clothes had been changed from the day before and he looked much more like and elf, even to the curve of his ear was finally in good light to see…

“Do you approve of Rivendell?” The man mused softly. Everything about his was so unlike that encounter in the wilds. Smooth, and satin. Yet he didn’t carry the airs of the elves. Despite his tall stature, Bilbo felt as if the man was on his level, so to speak. He looked at him so deeply that it made Bilbo want to tell him everything.

“Is it everything you expected it to be?” He continued when Bilbo didn’t respond.

Bilbo caught himself staring and shook his head clear. “Oh yes, it is wonderful!” He turned back to the garden to avoid that penetrating gaze. This was why eavesdropping was far from a pleasurable pastime. His ears practically _burned._ Bilbo felt like the Ranger could see right into his soul and discover that he had listened in on the very private conversation the day before.

“Very beautiful,” Bilbo continued. “I feel like I could spend years here and still not see everything.”

Mercifully, the Ranger’s eyes fell away and he started down the stairs. “Don’t be fooled,” he warned as he walked at a measured pace. “It is much smaller than you’d think. Claustrophobic, even.”

Bilbo almost attempted to disagree. After all, Rivendell was vast compared to the cozy hobbit holes of the Shire. But he thought better of it. From above, Bilbo watched the Ranger run his hand through the hanging leaves of a willow tree in a way that almost made his heart hurt to watch. It was almost sorrowful.

“Are you an elf?” Bilbo blurted before he could stop himself. The Ranger looked utterly astonished in the moment before he burst out laughing in that long and vibrant way of his. Bilbo’s ears turned red.

“No, Master Baggins,” the laughter had yet to cease and the hobbit wondered if he had made some sort of joke by accident. The Ranger wiped a tear from his eye and came to stand below the balcony. “I am of the North. Very human.” He inclined his head and gave him a sly look. “But surely that is a compliment to be likened to an elf. Or perhaps you share the opinion of your dwarven friends? Then perhaps you intend to pay me back for our last encounter.”

Bilbo knew he was being teased but struggled, still, not to offer any insult. The ranger took it easily enough. After a few attempts at conversation, the pair settled into a easy dialogue as they walked through the secret paths of the gardens.

“I have only been to Hobbiton once,” Rhosyn, as he corrected soon after, mused. “I was always fascinated by your homes there: dug into the hills and tucked away. And the smells,” He inhaled deeply at the memory. “It was like there was feast under my feet.”

“When you are there next you must see Bag End,” Bag End was, by far, the pride of the Shire and would be as long as Bilbo managed to keep it out of Lobelia’s hands. “My father and mother worked very hard to make it a very comfortable home.”

Rhosyn smiled brightly, revealing that dimple on his cheek. “I fear I may make a tight fit in your home. I am likely to break something.”

Bilbo considered it nonsense. If thirteen dwarves and a wizard could fit with only slight damage, one absurdly tall Ranger would do just fine. Of course, there would be talk of having a such a man break bread in Bag End. However, if there wasn’t any gossip on company then it just wouldn’t be Hobbiton. Rhosyn probed him on his confidence and Bilbo was all too eager to talk about the night that set him on this journey.

“So, you are telling me that Gandalf the Grey just invited thirteen dwarves to your home? Unannounced?” Bilbo nodded. Rhosyn looked properly astonished and Bilbo finally felt some validation about the rudeness the entire incident. If even the men in the wilds could have a sense of manners, what excuse did the dwarves have? And Gandalf for that matter!

“Yes! And they ate all of my food—I won’t even tell you what happened to the bathroom—it was absurd!” Bilbo paused for a moment and added, “But, they did clean up afterwards.”

Rhosyn stopped with Bilbo and leaned against a stone pillar. “It sounds like you have grown to care about them.”

“Oh yes,” Bilbo agreed with a nervous laugh. “They’re rough but quite a lovable bunch.” Rhosyn nodded, still smiling.

“It seems odd that you would come with them all the way from the Shire to the Iron Hills. Are you always so keen to travel the span of Middle Earth? Perhaps a fancy of exploration?” Rhosyn’s easy smile was entirely disarming. Bilbo sighed.

“Well they needed me. That's why they came. I sighed a contract and everything.”

“For garnering the good wishes of the elves?” Rhosyn joked.

“No, funnily enough, they wanted a burglar—” Bilbo paused and realized instantly that he had made a mistake. He backtracked. “I mean… I’m not a burglar, mind you, I just wanted to see the world outside of the Shire. I happen to have an excellent sense of direction which seems not to be a feature of any of the company.” The hobbit scrambled to save his blunder. However, a knowing look in Rhosyn’s eye signaled that Bilbo had absolutely no hope of recovery. Rhosyn’s face was still easy, but much more distant.

Then, after a moment, “Of course, Master Baggins. You don’t strike me as the burgling type.”

Bilbo appreciated, some hours later, that Rhosyn had led him into his confession from the start. For once, in a game of words, he had been out maneuvered.

~

Rhosyn had, thankfully, not asked Bilbo any more questions about the quest. But he also didn’t let Bilbo go and panic in private. Instead, Rhosyn invited the hobbit to join him in a stroll near the river where a ‘particularly nice bunch of wildflowers persist in annoying the gardener’. Rhosyn even collected a few seed pods and held them out to Bilbo to take home to his garden. Their conversation shifted and Rhosyn seemed acutely aware of the anxiety Bilbo was experiencing. Maybe he even felt a little guilty. Bilbo wasn’t sure. Regardless, the man took the lead and shared a bit about his travels down to Dunland and up to the Ettenmoors. He never gave many details but Bilbo got the distinct impression that Rhosyn was not as violent as those rumors about Rangers had led him to believe.

“So how did you come to be in Rivendell?” Bilbo asked as they turned back towards the elf-houses.

“To visit. To get supplies. Clothes.” He picked at his tunic that looked well fitted and far too fine for a traveler. The blue looked rather fine on him. It seemed that Rhosyn felt similarly, for he had undone the first three clasps at the neck down to his collarbone. As fine as the clothes were, he didn’t quite seem to be comfortable in them.

“A bath can also be…” Rhosyn trailed off, his eyes rather round and wide as they gazed ahead. It was then that Bilbo heard the noise that always seemed to follow the company, and he heaved a great sigh before daring to look. When he looked, Bilbo’s eyes were greeted by a stack of dwarves fighting _naked_ in the middle of a public fountain.

Bilbo didn’t remember fainting into the arms of the ranger, but the impression of dwarven behinds was firmly imprinted upon his brain for _days_.

~

Thorin was not pleased to see the Ranger. He wouldn’t have been pleased to see him if he had been fully armored with weapon in hand. So, he certainly was not thrilled to see him as he held up his nephews in a battle against Nori, Dori, and Ori in the middle of an elvish fountain. When his lapse in attention gave the three brothers the upper hand and sent Thorin and his sister-sons into the water, his displeasure only increased.

“By Durin, is that the bloke from before?” Dori asked as he dropped the unsuspecting Nori into the water. Kili and Fili both surfaced with a great gasp and turned, slinging water as they did. Thorin didn’t bother to look.  

“It would seem so.” Dwalin crossed his arms as he stood on the edge of the fountain. “And he has found our burglar.”

Indeed, the hobbit was with the man, looking pale and refusing to turn his eyes anywhere near the fountain as he approached with the Ranger. The man had a hand on the hobbit’s back, as if bracing him. Thorin’s eyes flashed between the two. The ranger looked like he was about break out into a laugh. What he found funny was completely lost on Thorin. Nothing about this was humorous.

“Master Dwalin.” The Ranger greeted him with a small nod, still smirking. Thorin bristled as the man’s grey eyes slid over to him.

“Enjoying the waters?” The man grinned so wide he showed his white teeth. Fili and Kili looked to each other.

“It is refreshing.” Thorin defended as he walked towards the edge of the fountain. He was only as tall as the man’s shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from making eye contact. “Though, perhaps we are a little _crude_ for the tastes of elves?”

Bilbo took the moment to step forward with a rushed, “He’s not an elf.”

“Very helpful, Master Baggins, but I can _see_ him.” In truth, Thorin hadn’t gotten a very good look at the Ranger in wilds. Caught between shadow and firelight and bright steel, he had only bothered to remember that voice. It still came unbidden into his mind now and again, taunting him. Now that he was much closer and in broad daylight, Thorin could see that this ranger was a poor excuse of a man. Tall and broad shouldered, but smooth faced, like an elf. He looked young enough but Thorin could judge some age around his eyes. Having lived among the race of Men for several decades, Thorin would have thought himself a better judge of Men. This one confounded him entirely. He couldn’t get a read of any sort on him.

“I am sure you have caused quite the stir.” The Ranger said it like a compliment as he moved his gaze over the other dwarves. Thorin watched as his nephews attempted to hold their ground, but both were blushing like young dwarrows on too much mead. How could they be so humiliated by this one man? Ori had occupied himself twisting his beard into knots. In fact, his entire company was standing a little too tensely. Where was his fearless company? Even Dwalin could not meet the ranger’s eye.

“We do not intend to stay long.” Thorin hoisted himself out of the fountain and stalked over to where his clothes lay warming in the sun. Fili joined him soon after and stood behind his uncle. Thorin nodded to his nephew and approached the man. The ranger still had a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder and was looking rather fondly at the halfing.

“How fortunate to meet again,” Thorin tugged his tunic on. The man’s face was still pink along the cheeks with the effort not to laugh and his cheek dimpled when he spoke. So much like and elf. It was sickening.

The man nodded at the rather friendly greeting, considering their last encounter. “Indeed. I was worried I’d miss your coming.”

“And why is that?” Thorin would not trust a friend of the elves—and this man even less—to have affable intentions to his kin and quest. Certainly, the elves were being hospitable enough, but that was only because Gandalf was with them. He and Lord Elrond were old friends. That offered some protection. This rogue’s purpose was indecipherable. The man smirked, less mirthfully and more deviously.

“If only to rub your nose in the fact that my advice was sound.” His words were haughty and unexpected. Thorin bristled but was surprised at how little anger he felt at the slight. The man had been right, of course, and Thorin would only look the fool if he disputed it.

“Well, we thank you for the warning.” Thorin conceded reluctantly while eyeing a rather nervous Bilbo. The hobbit looked tense and Thorin wondered how long he and the Ranger had been talking alone. And what they had been talking about…

“Excuse me,” There was _that_ elf again. The one who was all politeness but never seemed to be able to school the look of disgust that settled on his beardless face. Thorin could at least enjoy the look of constipation on the elf’s expression as he edged into the courtyard. “Lord Elrond bids me to inform you—“ he faltered as Dwalin strode by, still unclothed. Those prudish elves. “—that dinner is served in the west hall.” Thorin nodded and watched as the elf turned to the Ranger and said something in Elvish. The man exhaled once and released Bilbo to crack his fingers. He then turned to Thorin and Bilbo.

“Until next time, Master Baggins, Master Oakenshield.” The Ranger nodded once more to them before turning to leave with the elf scurrying close behind. Thorin took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the fountain to re-braid his hair. Bilbo, ever awkward, stood by and watched the buildings as if they were alive.

“His name is Rhosyn, you know.” The Hobbit blurted abruptly. “Esnin is just what people call him on the… road.”

Thorin eyed the hobbit and shot a look at Dwalin. “So, he lies about his name? I wonder what else.” His words were bitter.

Bilbo scoffed. “You know you could really do to be less suspicious. The elves have opened their home _and_ their kitchens—“ It seems the hobbit was still a little hung up on the Company showing up unannounced to his home. “—so it would really be silly to think that they are dangerous or mean ill.”

Dwalin gaffed. “Listen, laddie, elves and dwarves do no mix well. Like oil and vinegar. They are as distrustful of us as we are of them.”

Bilbo looked perplexed. “But why? You said yourselves you have never even met Lord Elrond or been to Rivendell.”

While charming, the hobbit’s ignorance was tiring. Thorin stood, buckling his belt and dagger, and said, “It is a long feud, oft renewed. Born out of greed and violence and trickery. Elves do not change.” It was more than that, but Bilbo didn’t need to know that Thorin’s resentment lay deeper than the historical tension between their cultures. While none of the elves of Rivendell had _particularly_ done him or his kin harm, he wouldn’t put it past any of them to do so in the future. They were elves after all.

~

The days leading up to the Waning Moon were both too slow and too fast for the company and it was causing nerves to run high. Complaints about the ‘green’ food meant that Thorin had to give leave to go hunting in the hills around Rivendell. Kili was more than eager to go. The boy could barely keep from walking straight into a door when he was so giddy. Fili had made excellent work against a tree in the courtyard, throwing knife after knife into the bark until it was permanently scarred. Balin had availed himself of the library in a vain attempt to find another way to read the map _without_ Lord Elrond. That was yet to have produced any success but Thorin appreciated the effort dearly. It was done more for his sake and he knew it. As such, the company was idle, bored, and unsatisfied.

Which made for mischief and a growing risk that Lord Elrond may evict them before the Waning Moon ever came to pass.

Bilbo had, as was his habit, charmed the elves into getting a personal tour of nearly every building in Rivendell. The hobbit had an apparent love for the elvish ways. Thorin thought it bizarre, but it kept Bilbo contented in a way that Thorin had never seen. He took every advantage to learn and explore and the elves seemed delighted that at least one member of the Company had enough manners to not molest the tapestries in the hall or use furniture as kindling.

Thorin _was_ concerned about the hobbit spending so much time alone with the elves. It was likely, knowing the elves and their ways, that the hobbit would slip and divulge their plans. As far as Thorin was aware, only Lord Elrond knew of their quest. It wouldn’t do for any scullery elf to send word to the Greenwood or give counsel when not wanted. So, when Thorin noticed Bilbo make for the main hall, he followed and kept an ear to stone for any hint of betrayal, innocent or not.

It was mostly talk of histories and plants. Bloody plants. Thorin had to bite his tongue when the hobbit asked about the history of dwarves and elves. One-sided accounts as always. Ever the noble elves, who fancied themselves above the greed of gold and gems. Thorin scoffed as he looked at the finery around him. Elves were not as immune to greed and vanity as they liked to believe.

“You aren’t being very sneaky, you know.” Thorin felt like smacking his head against the wall. He turned his head slightly and noticed a man-child watching him from an alcove down the hall. How long had he been there?

“Are you following me?” Thorin asked brusquely, eager to scare off and be rid of his pest. The boy continued where he was. He was small, for men, and young. Thorin estimated him to be perhaps ten years old, a babe by dwarvish standards. Men grow like weeds and die just as fast. The boy bounced on his feet and stared until Thorin met his gaze. Thorin hummed softly, his scowl falling. Children had that way about them that he had a hard time resisting.

“I see a question humming around your head, go on and ask it.” Thorin sighed. The man-child peered around the hall before tip toeing forward in a way that only children thought was successful. Finally, he neared Thorin and met his gaze.

“Are you really a dwarf?” The child whispered loudly. Thorin couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips. No longer did he care if the elves heard him now.

“Indeed I am. Are you really a human? Or perhaps an elf with badly formed ears?” He was teasing and the child grinned and touched his ear.

“I am of the Dunedain.” He said proudly. Thorin nodded, still smiling. He had heard of the Men of the North but seldom met them. Still, they were strange, like myth and legend in the towns of Men.

“A proud and good people.” The boy smiled at the compliment and edged closer.

“I heard,” He began in a conspiring whisper, “that there are thirteen of your kin here, and a hobbit, which I am told is similar but different… and a wizard!” His rushed murmurs echoed through the halls like a battered wind. It was amusing. Thorin nodded and humored the child’s many questions, some more invasive than others but all innocent as with the curiosity of the young. Strangely, he found the encounter refreshing and Thorin soon forgot his mission on keeping the hobbit in his sights

“You are from the Blue Mountains?” The boy asked.

“Yes,” Thorin’s smile faded a little as his gaze grew distant. “But that was not always our home.” The dwarf turned towards the window and gestured to the Misty Mountains peaking up beyond the trees. “My people came from the East, from a place of great beauty. Many years ago, we lost our home to fire and came across the Misty Mountains. We passed many wonders and hardships before settling in the Blue Mountains with our kin.”

The boy’s bright blue eyes were wide but his expression was resolutely serious. “You lost your home? Are you seeking it now? Is that why you are come to Rivendell?”

“Aragorn.”

The boy stood up immediately and rounded when called. The Ranger from the wilds stood in the archway, expression flat and stiff. Cold. What a way to speak to a child. Thorin’s own expression cooled as he watched the man. The Ranger stepped forward, stilling looking at the boy with a serious expression. The child nearly looked away.

“I was just—“

“Asking questions. I know.” Thorin watched the man’s countenance soften slightly. The Ranger lowered himself on one knee to the child’s eye level. In fact, he knelt so close that Thorin’s eyes could pick out the ring of deep night blue around the man’s iris as well as the scar that curved along the corner of his chin. The man continued, “But did you introduce yourself first?”

The boy stiffened in sudden realization and turned, shoulders back and head tall. “My apologies,” he said very formally. “My name is Aragorn, son of Gilraen.” The boy bowed very neatly. He had a good upbringing. Thorin pushed away from the wall and returned the gesture with and incline of his head.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.”

Aragorn smiled and his cheek dimpled. Thorin was suddenly struck with the resemblance this boy had to the Ranger who stood behind like a guardian. A parent or sibling? With an encouraging pat on the shoulder, the boy excused himself and left out for the gardens. Thorin found himself alone in the company of the Ranger and wondered how long he had been listening to them. A fair while, the dwarf imagined.

It was getting tiresome, to be haunted by this man. Thorin observed the ranger’s gaze followed the child until the boy was out of sight.

“He has never met anyone not of Rivendell or of his people.” The man explained very quietly. Thorin nodded slowly in understanding.

“A novelty, then, to have a Company of strangers parade through.”

The man rolled his eyes to the ceiling and back down to Thorin. “You have no idea.” He groaned. “It has been an endless stream of questions. He read up as much as he could and the library still hasn’t been set right.”

“Oh?” Thorin stepped forward, looking to regain some of the lost footing against this man. “And what did he find? Tales of blood thirsty dwarves who steal, and lie, and hoard like beasts?” Thorin’s voice rose not a degree above a murmur but was filled with anger and misgiving. He caught the ranger’s grey eyes. He knew something, Thorin could see it in the way his mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed.

“I am sure I don’t know what he read, exactly.” The ranger started slowly. “But it must not have been so terrible if he approached you.”

“Many a child can put caution to the wind for curiosity.” Thorin countered.

For once, the man said nothing and he strode out of the room in just three long strives. Thorin noted that Bilbo was nowhere nearby and had likely been gone for some time. He made for the quarters. All the while his mind turned over what he had observed. That man was clever but it seemed that Thorin had found an element of weakness. But this was uneven territory. Thorin would have to be more careful.


End file.
